


Under Your Spell

by mendacium_dulce (lux_veritatis)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe: No Magic, Author does not condone this type of relationship, Dark Tom Riddle, Extortion, Harry and Tom are young adults, Light Harry Potter, M/M, Psychological Manipulation, The fic is darker than the first chapter may suggest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_veritatis/pseuds/mendacium_dulce
Summary: Revenge is a dish best served cold.It takes Harry a long while to realize that it is a lie.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Under Your Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aroundloafofbread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroundloafofbread/gifts).



> This is an exchange fic for the wonderful and lovely Chu, whose immense creativity will never not amaze and inspire me. I sincerely apologize for the tardiness and I hope you enjoy regardless <3
> 
> I would like to thank Lena, whose brilliant writing can be found on https://fountain-of-forgetfulness.com/, for being the best beta I could ever ask for.

“I'm leaving,” Harry announced to nobody in particular, flinging his bag over his right shoulder, and approached the door.

“About time,” Vernon Dursley huffed. “You better not forget about the money you owe us. For taking care of you all those years.”

Harry merely shrugged and closed the door behind him. He hadn't been expecting to be sent off with a smile and genuine well-wishes, and besides, he had been told worse by the last remaining members of his family. He would neither miss nor be missed by them.

Taking the train to London on his own shouldn't have been as difficult as it was, but having been forced to spend the majority of his life doing chores and barely getting the chance to acquire the skills other adults took for granted, it was of no surprise to him that he was forced to rely on the kindness of the strangers present at the train station more than once.

When he was finally settled in a compartment of his own and started nibbling on his pre-packed lunch: a sandwich and an apple, he released a pent-up breath - a breath he must have been holding for eighteen long years - and all of a sudden, his chest felt much lighter. Finally, he could work towards a better future.

But when his gaze landed on the outdated, crumpled newspaper sticking out of his bag, Harry's eyes darkened.

 _Peter Pettigrew's corpse discovered two days ago_ , its frontpage said. _Sirius Black proven innocent._

In truth, there was another more important reason Harry had left the Dursley's care so abruptly: Sirius Black, the man who had been arrested mere days after his parents' death, was no one other than his godfather. In the car accident that had cost his parents' their life, he had fled the scene instead of rescuing them from the burning vehicle. More than anything, Harry wanted to look the despicable coward in the eyes and demand answers.

During his first weeks in London, Harry conducted all kinds of research on Sirius Black, quickly learning that his godfather was known as the Grim, for ever since the end of his imprisonment three years ago, his mere proximity had been an omen of death for any businessman and company he approached as a rival. For that reason, he was said to play the European economy like a fiddle, and all in all, only few dared to cross his path. However, even the likes of Black were aware of how important it was to be regarded favorably by the general public, and so, he had an agreement with various universities to provide small jobs for students struggling financially by employing them directly at his home. It would be Harry's chance to approach his godfather, to take him by surprise and strike when Black was at his most vulnerable.

***

With every step Harry took towards Black's vast manor that was surrounded by an ever-larger estate and a small forest, his heart rate picked up in speed. After an entire childhood spent in poverty, he couldn't help but be intimidated by its wealth and splendor. Regardless, he squared his shoulders, walked up to the door, and rang the doorbell.

About thirty agonizing seconds later, he stood face to face with the very man he had known from the newspaper articles ever since his release.

“Let me take a guess, kid,” Sirius Black deadpanned. “Your name's either Harry Potter or Harry Evans.”  
  
“How did you know?”  
  
“I've been approached by a lot of those lately. Sneaky brats so eager to get their greedy little paws on my fortune.”

“I can show you my-”  
  
“Don't bother,” Sirius Black snapped, and Harry had to keep himself from flinching. “I've had enough of those flimsy fake IDs. Besides, Harry Potter is a common name. The only thing that matters to me is that I've got no choice but to let you work for me. So, I'll be doing just that. Just stay out of my way while you're at it. Got it?”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Good. For starters, you can clean my garage. Follow me.”

To say that Sirius Black's garage was messy was an understatement. All different kinds of spare parts were scattered everywhere, and there was no order to them, no sorting. But having lived with the Dursleys and been forced to tidy-up his cousin's two rooms, Harry had seen worse. Rolling up his sleeves, he got to work.

Hours passed before the floor was becoming visible underneath the rubble, and Harry wiped his forehead with a greasy hand. He was just about to move on to the next pile of unsorted clutter when the door opened.

“You're still there.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Well, yeah. I'm not done yet.”

“Hmm,” Sirius Black hummed in thought, pacing the garage and assessing Harry's work. “That doesn't look too shabby,” he said reluctantly, and it was clear that he was displeased there was no justification for criticizing Harry. “It's getting late. You should go now. If you're enough of a masochist to continue that charade of yours, you can come back next week.”

“This isn't a charade, Sir,” Harry protested. “I'll be back.”

Only when he stepped outside did he notice that it was already night. He was truly exhausted. Feeling as though lead had been poured into each of his joints, he dragged his heavy feet back to the room he had rented and collapsed on the bed.

***

Fortunately, the next day was a Saturday, meaning there were no classes at the university he was enrolled in. He did, however, have to finish his homework and study for the next lesson.

His legs were still sore as they carried him to a nearby park he had taken a liking to, for it was a quiet place and the nearly ancient trees and the rustling of their leaves made for a relaxing atmosphere even when he was tasked with analyzing and studying case files that made his head pound.

Unfortunately, the peace and quiet also allowed for thoughts that weren't entirely welcome: how it had hurt to be regarded as an imposter, when his name was the only string that connected him to his deceased parents. Other than that, and the fact that they had died in a car crash, he knew nothing about them. He never believed the Dursleys when they described his parents as good-for-nothings, who deserved what had ultimately happened to them, for the accident in which they had died was entirely their fault. Harry almost snapped and lashed out at them then. He only reined in his temper when he remembered that he had neither the money nor any place to go to.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of laughter, clear and joyous, and turned his head. There was a motley group of children clad in cheap-looking fabrics that had to be far too thin to protect them from the frigid autumn wind, yet their bright eyes sparkled with happiness, even more so when they gazed at the young man walking amidst them.

Following the direction of the children's gaze, he quickly concluded that the young man's beauty was unearthly: Perfectly-coiffed dark hair and consuming dark eyes set a lovely contrast to his fair skin, his full lips to his hollowed cheeks and sharp jawline, yet what stole Harry's breath away was the serene smile that graced his chiseled features as his gaze swept over the children.

It was a sight that reminded Harry of expensive oil paintings with religious motifs, and for a moment, he wondered whether he was truly awake, whether his mind wasn't actually showing him an image too beautiful to ever be real. However, moments passed, and the young man and the children didn't make way for a different dreamscape painted by his restless mind and instead continued to approach him. It was only when the stranger's eyes met his own that he noticed he had been staring at him with his lips parted in a silent gasp. Harry quickly averted his gaze, not daring to look in the group's direction again or to breathe too loudly until they walked past him and left his field of vision.

When Harry attempted to resume his studies, the children and the handsome stranger didn't make way for the case files he had to memorize.

***

The next day Harry went to Sirius Black's mansion was a rainy Monday.

“You're actually back,” Black said, and his tone was as sour as his expression.

He wasn't expecting Black to greet him with a smile, but when he regarded Harry with a particular grouchiness as though Harry were a particularly persistent door to door preacher trying to recruit him for his sect, Harry's spite reared its ugly head, and he could barely bite back his sarcasm.

“That's what we agreed on, Sir,” he said.

However, Black was far from finished with making sure that Harry's stay at his house was as miserable as possible, for this time, he was practically breathing down Harry's neck as he worked, constantly finding reasons to criticize what he was doing and muttering about what an inept leech Harry was, and though it took mere minutes for Harry to bristle up on the inside, he couldn't afford to lash out and give Black exactly what he wanted.

It was after about an hour of insults that Harry's mood shifted, and Harry thought, _'How can I be so stupid, running from one person who wants me gone to another?'_

Was he really so unlovable that Black didn't even accept him out of guilt? He didn't even have a friend.

Only his pride kept his expression from betraying how he truly felt as he quietly finished his work, pretending not to hear the insults.

“I'll be back in two days,” he said quietly, forcing himself to meet Black's gaze for a final time that day.

As he turned to leave, he heard Black mutter to himself, “Why can't any of them be like Tom?” before he let the door fall shut behind him.  
  
There were no improvements the next time he went to Black's manor either.

***

The second time Harry encountered the young man and the children, he was sitting on the exact same bench, studying for his upcoming lessons. Again, it was the children's laughter that caused him to look up from his books and nothing could have prepared him for the sheer impact the young man's serene smile had on him and again, he could do nothing but stare. Fully expecting a repetition of the last time he had seen them, he was surprised to notice that the expression of one of the girls was different from the rest. Just a moment later, the young man crouched down in front of her, and the girl all but flung herself into his arms. Harry couldn't look away as the man cradled her against his chest, undoubtedly murmuring words of comfort in her ear, and before Harry could prevent it from happening, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and something heavy settled in his stomach.

 _'What's wrong with me?'_ he asked himself. _'Why am I...?'_

Only in the evening, when he was already lying in his bed, did he realize that he had been yearning for the same touch.

***

The eleventh time that Harry exited Sirius Black's mansion after a mentally draining afternoon, he saw a red-haired young man about his age approach the enormous property.

“You work here too?” the red-haired stranger asked.

“Yeah. Black's a real slave-driver.”

“And a real git too.”

The two of them shared a hearty laugh.

“My name's Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“I'm Harry Potter. Even if Black likes to think otherwise. He really hates my guts for it.”

“For real?” Ron's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“Yeah, for real,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “D'you think I'd be slaving away in his dirty garage otherwise?”

“I don't envy you. Don't care whether you're his real godson or not. With that attitude, that git'd _deserve_ getting conned out of his fortune. I mean, how can he be so rich and not even think of giving back in some way? How can he pay such meager wages?”

It was then that Harry noticed that Ron's clothes were slightly baggy and resembled his own hand-me-downs from Dudley. His bitterness towards Black had to be personal just the same and despite having met him for the first time, he already felt a strange sort of kinship.

“Seriously, the only person on this planet he seems to like's Tom Riddle,” Ron continued.

“Tom Riddle?”

“Yeah. He's a bloody prodigy, and Black won't shut up about how _brilliant_ he is at psychology and law. If you ask me, if Black likes him that much, he can only be a prick.”

“Agreed.”

“Anyways, I've got to be going now, or Black'll have my head.”

Harry's heart sank at those words, for it had been a long time since he enjoyed a conversation to this extent.

“D'you want to exchange numbers?” he asked.

Ron grinned. “You bet, mate.”

***

By now, it had become a routine for Harry to study at the park. He didn't come there to admire the foliage, the vibrant red and orange and yellow that appeared even more intense in contrast to the brown leaves that had already fallen to the ground, to the gray wafts of mist, and the trees already barren. The air was already crisp, the bench Harry was sitting on coated with frosty rime, and the thin seat pad Harry had brought with him and the thin fabric of his clothes didn't do much to protect him from the cold. Logically, he should have stayed inside, seated himself close to the radiator with a steaming mug of tea in his hands, and admired the colorful autumnal scenery through his window, yet the children's laughter and the handsome young man who accompanied them called out to him like a siren's song, causing him to come to the park again and again, with no thought to the many illnesses he could catch.

Harry couldn't prevent a soft smile from lighting up his face when he picked up on the sound of laughter in the distance, soft and mellisonant like bells, though he quickly pretended to be engrossed in his studies again the very moment he could see the group of children enter his field of vision.

From time to time, he stole furtive glances at the group, and he didn't want to admit that more often than not, his gaze was lingering on the handsome stranger in their center, on his immaculate features and his serene smile, though he did notice that the children were all wearing thick winter jackets, that unlike him, they were all protected from the cold – even if their jackets, too, were well-worn like the rest of their clothing.

A frigid shiver coursed through his body as he became aware of how cold he truly was from watching the children play in the cold so free from worry. In that moment, it seemed to Harry as though their only care in the world was to earn the handsome stranger's approval, and Harry let out a wistful sigh. The children's jauntiness touched him deeply and made him aware of the gaping emptiness in his own heart. After all, unlike them, he was unwanted and unloved, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he envied them, envied them for the serene smile directed at them, Harry wondered how different his life would be if he, too had someone who cared about him, who regarded him with so much warmth.

He was both relieved and disappointed when the group left again, though it was still impossible for him to truly focus on his studies again.

Instead, he thought about Black, about the way he'd scowl at Harry as though he had personally wronged him, reminding him that he was unwanted every minute he spent at Black's mansion, and Harry wondered why he didn't just try to convince Black that he was truly his godson, so he could watch him crumble under the weight of his sins, and be done with it. Was he really so scared of being rejected despite having proven that his claims were rightful? Was he enough of a masochist to care about the approval of a man who had been regarding him with nothing but disdain?

Whatever it was, there had to be something wrong with Harry.

“Do you come here often?” a melodious voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry looked up and saw the stranger, and gasped. All those months, he had been sitting on the same bench, hoping for a mere glimpse, much less a conversation with the handsome stranger. Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer impact of being addressed by him.

“Ye-yeah,” Harry stammered. “It's nice and quiet here. An ideal place for studying.”

“Indeed. I rather like it myself, though if we are disturbing you, we can always relocate our-”

“ _No!”_ Harry exclaimed, then corrected himself more quietly, “Err, I mean, you don't need to. It's not as though you are distracting me or anything.”

“I see,” the handsome stranger chuckled, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. “That is very generous of you. The children are quite fond of this park as well. They'll be happy to hear that they can continue playing here. That is, as long as they behave.”

“These children,” Harry began hesitantly, “are they-”

“Orphans? Yes. Hence I'd like them to smile like any other children.”

“You're really kind, you know?” Harry murmured. “Caring about their happiness when no one else does. Making them feel loved...”

As the last word left his mouth, he quickly stopped himself, fearing he had betrayed that he himself was an unloved orphan, what he was yearning for, craving all this time. Whenever he gazed at the stranger and the children, he was overcome with melancholy and bittersweet longing, and indeed, there was something unreadable in the stranger's kind gaze as he regarded him.

“Indeed. No one deserves to feel as though they have no place in this world,” the stranger said before asking, “What is your name?”

“My name's Harry Potter.”

“Am I correct to assume that you are working for Mr. Black, then?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But I'm not trying to lie to him or anything like that. You probably won't believe me, but I really am his godson.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the rustling of the colored autumn leaves as the stranger closely examined him, and Harry had to force himself not to look away.

“I believe you,” the stranger said. “There's no mistaking that you have Lily Evans's eyes.”  
  
He extended his hand. “My name is Tom Riddle. I've been in Mr. Black's employment since January. If you'd like me to, I would be happy to attest for the validity of your claims.”

At first, Harry's eyes widened, for he would have never expected Tom Riddle to be the enigmatic stranger who was so kind to a group of orphans and who had downright mesmerized him from the first time he had laid his eyes upon him. As his words sank in, however, Harry shook his head.

“Thanks for the offer, but... I don't want that. I want him to find it out himself and _regret_.”  
  
“You appear to have personal qualms with Mr. Black.”

“You could say that. Black hates my guts, but the feeling's perfectly mutual.”

“Are you certain you don't misunderstand Mr. Black? At first glance, he may appear a little, ah, unpleasant, but once you become acquainted with him on a deeper level, he proves to be an incredibly caring individual.”

“He let my parents die,” Harry snapped. “How can that bastard be caring?”

“Truth be told, I'm a little disappointed in you. For someone claiming to be his godson, you know very little about Mr. Black.”

“What's there to know about a slave-driver and a murderer?”

For a moment, Tom Riddle appeared to consider him.

“Very well. I shall let you in on a secret. But you must promise not to divulge it to anyone.”

“I can do that,” Harry promised easily.

After all, it wasn't as though he had any friends to speak of. There was Ron, of course, but so far, they had only spoken on the phone from time to time. They weren't nearly as close as Harry would've liked.

***

The next evening, Tom Riddle picked him up at his one-room flat and led him to the entrance of a small cemetery, where he put a finger to his lips and motioned for him to follow him silently.

As they tiptoed their way around various close standing graves, it didn't take long until Tom Riddle stopped by a statue of the Virgin Mary and suddenly wrapped an arm around Harry's waist to pull him next to him.

Just when Harry was about to protest with beet red cheeks, a hunched male figure approached a grave in front of them, and Harry held his breath when he read the names inscribed on the gravestone:

Lily and James Potter.

Had Harry not dug his nails into the calloused skin of his hands, he would have burst into tears right there and then.

The man crouched down, placing a bouquet of flowers into the vase on the grave, and when Harry thought he was about to leave, he muttered, “I'm so sorry. I should have saved you that day.”

The voice was distinctly Sirius Black's.

Harry didn't say anything as they left the cemetery and Tom Riddle guided him to the park instead of his one-room flat.

“I never knew where my parents' grave was,” Harry said quietly after they had sat down on a bench. “Before you, no one's bothered to tell me. I never expected Black to feel any guilt for my parents' death.”  
  
“Mr. Black comes here every Sunday,” Tom Riddle explained. “He blames himself for Mr. and Mrs. Potters' death even though he saved you from the burning vehicle. Mr. Black saved you, Harry. Are you still going to insist that he's a heartless person?”

“How could I?! If I'd known earlier, I would have... I would have...”

Tom Riddle placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked intently at him.

“Won't you tell me your story, Harry?” Tom Riddle asked gently, and Harry began to talk about his upbringing at the Dursley's, about the constant verbal abuse, the fact that his room had been a cupboard, the excruciating loneliness.

“Thinking about it now,” he concluded, “being able to blame and hate Black was the only thing keeping me together. Pathetic, right?”

Harry wanted to continue criticizing himself and his actions, but Tom Riddle put an abrupt stop to his intentions by pulling him against his firm chest.

“It's not pathetic to desire what others take for granted,” Tom Riddle murmured so close to his ear, and Harry's breath hitched when Tom Riddle adjusted his hold, so he was cradling him in his arms.  
“It is not pathetic to use the only method at your disposal to keep yourself from breaking.”

“What if... what if I already did?” Harry asked, and at the last word, his voice finally cracked.

“That is alright, too. No one will judge you. Not after how much you've endured and _didn't_ break. I won't let it happen,” Tom Riddle declared firmly, yet when he began to stroke Harry's unruly hair, Harry downright melted at the tenderness of the gesture.  
  
“Relax, Harry,” Tom Riddle murmured. “Relax and let it all out. There is no shame in being vulnerable. In being human.”

And Harry's resolve to remain strong shattered into tiny little fragments. Tear after tear trickled down his face and chin as he buried his face in Tom Riddle's chest, and choked sobs escaped him.

“Yes, just like that,” Tom Riddle praised. “You're doing well. So, so well.”

For a few minutes, all that could be heard in the park were Harry's sobs muffled by the fabric of Tom Riddle's coat and soothing words of comfort murmured in a melodious voice.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Harry asked once he had regained his ability to form sentences, though he didn't pull away from Tom Riddle's hold. “Black _detests_ me. Were it not for that blasted contract of his, he'd fire me.”

“He won't detest you if he knows that you're his godson. Don't you wish to be loved by him? Don't you wish for him to wrap his arms around you in my stead? I can make it happen, Harry. All you need to do is allow me to convince him of the validity of your claims. Discard your misplaced pride. Accept what was always meant to be yours.”  
  
“Please, Riddle,” Harry whispered hoarsely. “Please convince him.”  
  
What he didn't say was that at this point, he never wanted to be without Tom Riddle's touch again either.

***

Harry's heart was pounding when he approached the mansion the next day, and there was a tremor in his knees that made it difficult to stand straight. Tom Riddle was already waiting for him at the door, and upon seeing the insecurities plastered all over Harry's face, he gave him a reassuring smile.

“Good morning, Harry. Are you feeling quite alright?”

“I've got to.”

“You're incredibly brave, then,” Tom Riddle praised him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

The touch lingered and after a few moments, Harry finally exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn't noticed he had been holding, and all of a sudden, his chest felt much lighter.

“It'll be fine,” Tom Riddle soothed. “Mr. Black is no unreasonable man. And besides... I can be very _persuasive_ if I wish to be.”

At his last words, Tom Riddle gave him a smile that was almost impish, and Harry's heart stuttered in his chest.

“Are you prepared to face your godfather now?”

“Yeah. Let's do this,” Harry said, trying to sound confident as he rang the doorbell.

The seconds he had to wait for Black passed agonizingly slowly, and it was difficult to not lose the courage Tom Riddle had granted him.

Finally, the door opened, and Black's face immediately twisted into a frown upon seeing Harry.

“What do you want?”

Only when he saw Tom Riddle did his features soften a little, and while it reassured Harry that Tom Riddle's mere presence appeared to make Black easier to speak to, he also felt a pang of jealousy.

“Ah, Tom. What are you doing here this early in the morning? Did you add another child to your list of charity cases?”  
  
“One could say that,” Tom Riddle laughed. “Come, Harry. This does concern you, after all.”

To Harry's surprise, Black's eyes did not narrow when he followed the two of them inside and into a lavish drawing room.

“Cup of tea?” Black offered, more to Tom Riddle than Harry.

“Yes, please. I'm sure Harry would like one as well, yes, Harry?”  
  
“Y-yeah. If it's no trouble, Mr. Black...”

At that, Black waved his hand dismissively, though when he called for one of his maids, he told her to prepare three cups of tea rather than only two, and about five minutes later, the three of them sat with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of them.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“It's about Harry, Mr. Black.”

“Yeah, I've already figured that. Go on.”

“After performing a thorough background check on him, I have acquired sufficient proof that Harry James Potter is, in fact, your lost godson,” Tom explained before handing Black a thick gray folder.

Taking the folder, Black skimmed its contents with his eyes first widening, then narrowing.

“Anyone could have fabricated that, Tom,” he ultimately said with a weary sigh. “Don't you remember the so-called 'proof' the last one brought with him?”

“I understand that you have resigned by now, Mr. Black, but won't you take a look at him? He clearly has his mother's eyes and his father's features.”  
  
“Anyone determined enough could've fabricated those too.”

“Indeed. However, does this young man look as though he has the means to accomplish such feat?” Tom Riddle paused. “Has he ever attempted to convince you of his heritage after you've made it apparent to him that you do not believe him?”

“...No. He hasn't.”

“Or made any attempt at manipulating you?”  
  
“...No.”

“I will not presume to claim that I understand your pain, Mr. Black,” Tom Riddle murmured. “Yet you mustn't allow it to cloud your judgment. As you are now, you're rejecting proof that is downright irrefutable. Rejecting it due to your strong fear of being disappointed yet again. There is nothing you want more than for this young man to be your godson, hence you've been spurring him more than you have ever spurred the others.”

“But...”

“Be brave, Mr. Black,” Tom Riddle soothed, “and accept the truth that is right in front of you.”

Black took a deep breath and for the first time, he truly looked at Harry, and under his scrutinizing gaze, Harry couldn't have felt more insecure.

Finally, he rose from his chair and walked around the table.

“Get up, Harry,” he commanded, and his voice was devoid of any emotion.

Already expecting the worst, Harry rose from his chair with a sinking heart, his cup of tea long forgotten.

“I'm sorry for bothering you,” he said, dejected. “I'll be back for work next-”

He was swiftly interrupted by a pair of calloused hands on his cheeks, and Harry froze as they tilted back his head, forcing him to look in a pair of gray eyes.

“You really have your mother's eyes,” Black whispered, and before Harry could fully process his words, he was enveloped by a pair of strong arms and embraced so tightly.

“I'm so sorry, Harry,” he said, and his voice cracked as he repeated, “I'm so sorry.”

Soft tremors were coursing through the arms around Harry's body, and Harry didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say when he felt traces of moisture against the skin of his neck.

“I really am the worst. For doubting you all this time. For treating you like an imposter. For not being there for you when you needed me the most. I even killed your parents that day, I...”  
  
“You're wrong, Mr. Black,” Harry corrected him in a hoarse voice. “Riddle's already told me the truth. Didn't you listen to their final request and save me instead?”

“Did Tom tell you that?!”  
  
“No, I just guessed. You cared too much for them to just let them die, right? So, I figured there's _got_ to be another reason.”

“You're too kind, Harry,” Black whispered, still shaking. “Too kind for this rotten world. Too kind to someone like me.”

“It's you who's kind. I saw you at the cemetery, apologizing to mum and dad years after the accident. That's something only a kind person, only a loyal friend'd do.”

“Are you telling me you'll accept me as your godfather despite all of the reasons you shouldn't?” Black asked hesitantly, and Harry gasped.  
  
“I do,” Harry declared firmly, though his voice wavered just a moment later as he added, “If you're okay with me, Mr. Black.”

In response to Harry's insecurities, Black merely tightened his embrace, and Harry was drowning in warmth. The sensation was so new and overwhelming he barely remembered to return Black's embrace.

“Call me Sirius.”

Looking over Black's – Sirius's – shoulder and seeking Tom Riddle's gaze, Harry found that Tom Riddle must have been regarding the scene with the same serene smile that had otherwise been reserved for his group of orphans.

***

Many things changed after that fateful day, and Harry was almost overwhelmed by the sheer impact a single nerve-wracking conversation had had on his entire life: On the very next day, he moved in with Sirius and was officially adopted by him, though Harry did keep his father's last name.

In the morning, he no longer woke up to aggressive yelling or an empty flat; instead, he was led to a lavish breakfast table and took his meal with his godfather, conversing with him, laughing with him, listening to stories about his parents – especially his father.

For instance, Harry soon learned that his mother and father had been head girl and head boy respectively, for their grades had been impeccable and they had been beloved and idolized by the entire student body. They hadn't entered a relationship until their last year at school, however, as Lily Evans had thought of James Potter as an arrogant idiot, and his many awkward attempts at earning her affections had only proven her right initially. Harry couldn't stop laughing when Sirius told him about how his father had instigated his group of friends that had included Sirius as well into putting a teacher's car vertically against the wall in an attempt to impress her.

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, was immediately promoted to Sirius's personal assistant, and almost none of Sirius's public appearances proceeded without Tom Riddle at his side. Secretly, Harry couldn't have been happier about the fact that he almost encountered Tom Riddle at the mansion on a daily basis, and even though there were only few opportunities to speak to him, Harry cherished each and every one nonetheless, for had it not been for him, he would have never been reunited with his loving godfather.

Sirius's policies as a businessman, too, changed. While he had been nothing but ruthless before, he now made sure to donate plenty of money to various trustworthy charities, established a foundation to support orphans without living family members willing to take them in, and raised the salary of all of his employees as well as the people working for him at his mansion.

When Ron had learned about his raise, he had almost squeezed Harry to death, and what had been a pleasant acquaintanceship before soon blossomed into a beautiful friendship.

For the first time in his life, Harry was truly happy.

One aspect of Harry's life, however, didn't change: While he could have easily studied at the mansion, he still felt himself be drawn to the park in which he had met Tom Riddle, still felt himself be drawn to the young man, whose smile was so beautiful and serene. While Harry had been confined to merely observing Tom Riddle before, they were now conversing whenever Tom Riddle had returned the children to the nearby orphanage.

One day, Harry's curiosity got the better of him and he asked Tom Riddle how he had come to care for his group of orphans.

“I'm an orphan myself, and I, too, grew up in an orphanage,” Tom Riddle told him then. “Hence it is my desire to bring more happiness to these orphans' childhood than there was in mine.”

“I see. That must've been rough,” Harry said sympathetically.

“I will not pretend that it was pleasant. The matrons back then were very strict, you see? Corporal punishments were rather common, though I was fortunate to have never incurred their wrath. Regardless, there was very little I could do if one of the others put a toe out of line – or their entire foot for that matter. If the matrons couldn't determine the culprit, they claimed to have no choice but to punish us all."

“How unfair! I'm so sorry you had to go through all that.”

“You are very kind, Harry, to sympathize with me despite your own unpleasant childhood.”

“You're the one who's kind! Caring for those orphans, reuniting me with Sirius... you could have cared a lot more about your own needs instead!”

“Is it so hard to imagine that I, too, am capable of being utterly selfish?” Tom Riddle murmured, and an enigmatic smile graced his handsome features.

“Yeah. You're practically a saint.”  
  
“Endearing.”  
  
“Wh-what?”

“You're positively endearing, Harry,” Tom Riddle repeated, and Harry's heart skipped a beat.

“Stop making fun of me, Riddle!” he stammered.

His cheeks had taken on a soft red tinge.

“Truly, I'm offended. Aren't we close enough for you to address me by my first name by now?”

“Stop making fun of me, _Tom_!”

***

The initial signs were subtle and few, yet despite Harry's efforts of concealing them, Sirius caught on about his feelings for Tom after merely two weeks of Harry's pupils widening whenever he spoke about Tom and of Harry asking (but never too frequently) about the next time Tom would be present at the mansion.

“Why not snog the bloke already?” Sirius asked over a heavily loaded plate of _English breakfast_ , and Harry choked on his bacon in immediate reaction.

“ _Wh-What_?”

“You're head over heels with him and he seems to be quite fond of you too. Besides, someone's got to help him get rid of the massive stick up his arse, and who could be more qualified than my ridiculously attractive godson?”

“Stop teasing me!” Harry protested.

His cheeks had taken on a bright red color, and Sirius let out a chuckle at Harry's expense.

“How can I not when you make it far too easy?” Sirius laughed, and Harry shot a withering glare in his direction. “But I'm not _only_ teasing you. If you want something, you've got to go and take it. That's my advice for you.”

“What...whatever,” Harry stammered before wolfing down the rest of his meal. “I'm finished.”

Rising from the table without waiting for Sirius to finish as well, he readied himself for his university classes. At this point, he no longer expected to be berated for his lack of manners, and he reveled in the freedom that came with misbehaving as he pleased. His complexion, however, didn't return to normal until he left the mansion.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Tom greeted him when they met at the park the next day.

“Where are the children?”  
  
“They're on a trip, visiting a couple of old churches,” Tom responded, and warmth blossomed in Harry's chest upon realizing that Tom had most likely come to the park just to meet him.  
  
“In any case, how was your week?”

“Sirius told me to snog you,” Harry blurted out before immediately covering his mouth.  
  
Tom, on the other hand, appeared to be amused as he stepped closer and gently took Harry's hand, pulling it away from his mouth.

“How very meddling of Mr. Black,” he said smoothly. “Is that what you wish as well, Harry?”

“ _No_ , err, _yes_ , err actually, I want _you_ to snog _me_ ,” Harry confessed quietly, and for the second time that day, his cheeks took on a deep red.

At this point, Tom didn't merely appear to be amused, he laughed, and the sound was so beautiful and melodious Harry didn't dare to breathe, even less so when Tom leaned in and cupped his cheeks.

“Are you entirely certain about this?” Tom asked. “You ought to be aware that once I've kissed you, I have no intention of letting anyone else have a go at you. After all, I'm not willing to share what is mine.”

Harry nodded. More than anything, Tom's promises made his heart skip a beat at how romantic they were.

“Please,” he whispered shyly, barely resisting the urge to look to the side, and something unreadable flashed in Tom's eyes before he leaned in.

The first touch was a simple brush of lips, the briefest of caress, yet it made Harry's heart flutter all the same, for Tom's lips were as soft as petals, as silken as a butterfly's wings.

When Tom leaned in to capture Harry's lips again, Harry wasn't prepared for the sheer intensity of the contact, for this time, Tom deepened the kiss almost immediately, claiming, tasting, devouring, and Harry let himself fall into Tom's lead far too easily.

As he relished the feeling of Tom's lips against his own and let him steal his breath away, he couldn’t suppress a moan when suddenly, Tom nipped at his bottom lip – gently at first, then demandingly – and he obeyed, parting his lips and letting Tom's dexterous tongue invade his mouth.

For the first time, Harry understood just why people were so obsessed with snogging, for he was drowning in bliss as Tom's tongue tangled with his own and his hand wandered to the back of Harry's head, tugging at his hair in just the right places. And when he sucked on his tongue, the sensation was so intense Harry’s knees gave in almost immediately, causing him to cling to Tom's coat as he collapsed against him, and his heart stuttered when he felt Tom chuckle against his lips.

He was downright disappointed when Tom pulled back, and it must have shown on his face, for there was now an amused smile gracing Tom's handsome features

“I love you, Tom,” Harry confessed, then sighed when Tom rewarded him with another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Can anyone guess what anime this is loosely inspired by? :P
> 
> In any case, I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this twoshot; feedback of any kind is always loved and appreciated <3


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